Monday, November 30, 2009

Nick Hogan was involved in a minor car accident last night in downtown Los Angeles.

There were no injuries. Police came to the scene, but no report was taken.

He was coming back from a charity event to raise money for an organization called Keep It On The Track that teaches people to drive safely.

Closely related, sometime next week, I expect it to be reported that Nick's charlatan father Hulk Hogan is either (a) planning to open up his own rasslin' training school; or (b) hosting a benefit designed to raise awareness of his courageous albeit futile fight against follicle deficiency syndrome.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Starrcade 1984 was held at the Greensboro (NC) Coliseum. In the main event, "Nature Boy" Ric Flair retained his in NWA World Heavyweight Wrestling Championship in a controversial decision over "The American Dream" Dusty Rhodes after special guest referee Smokin' Joe Frazier stopped the bout due to a small gash on the Dream's forehead.

WTF!?!?

A Dusty Rhodes matched stopped due to an innocuous cut and a trickle of blood?!? Now that my friends is the epitome of the "Dusty finish."

Of note on the undercard, a pre-Enterprises Tully Blanchard put his Television Title on the line against Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat. The NWA World Tag Team Champions Ivan and Nikita Koloff faced off against Ole Anderson and something called Keith Larson. Oh, and Paul Jones and Jimmy Valiant marked the second year of their protracted lower-mid card stalemate of a feud by doing battle in tuxedo/street-fight/loser leaves town match in which I have no doubt was an overbooked, interference laden, plunder filled mess.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Here at Arabian Facebuster, we gain a smug sense of satisfaction when pro wrestling's past intersects and/or collides with its futurepresent...um, more recent past. Take the clip above featuring part-time male stripper, part-time Ultimate Warrior body double, and full-time brightly colored tassle accessorizer Chick Donovan. Culled from the seedy underworld of short-lived, deep south early-to-mid 1980s rasslin' promotions -- an underworld that is once again seeing the light of the day thanks to the power of YouTube and will be receiving a thorough treatment right here at Arabian Facebuster in the weeks and months to come -- this clip from something called World Organization Wrestling which appears to emanate out of Tom Wopat's helicopter hangar and features: (1) If only for a moment, Chick Donovan doing his patented tiny gyrating wang dance; (2) Donovan standing around in the ring, pointing at objects unbeknownst to the announcers, fans around the ringside area and television audience; (3) Donovan unleashing a flurry of right hands and drop kicks delivered at groin level elevation; (4) The adversaries in question finally getting the better of this Benson & Hedges beefcake.

Pretty pedestrian sounding so far, right!?

But wait. It gets marginally better as none other than Bob "Sparky Plugg" Holly-- porn mustache, asymmetrical mullet, crossed eyes, and all -- comes up into save Donovan and assume the proverbial babyface "house of fire" role on the out of shape, backwoods, slack jawed, banjo plucking, moonshine bootlegging, ambivalent towards the Confederacy heel tandem.

Never one to shy away from logic and congruence, earlier this month th' Pencil Neck Geek inquired whether the walking blimp otherwise known as Scott Hall would soon be cloaked in the incandescent Facebuster great big fatso of the week spotlight.

Good question. My retort would be yes...but not exactly.

You see, I want to take us back to a time when Scott Hall was a lean, mean, toned, plucky, schlong cutted, Tom Selleck mustached, reptilian stick poking machine and most certainly not abusing alcohol, cocaine, painkillers, miscellaneous prescription drugs, and his dessert bar privileges at the local Old Country Buffet.

The year...1989. The promotion...The National Wrestling Alliance. Scott Hall's objective...To run roughshod over the federation's vaunted jobber pool by night while upsetting the fragile ecosystem of the Florida Everglades by purging it of its native species by day.

Like you dear readers, I have no idea if the Billy Ocean song is in reference to Scott Hall's outlook, attitude, and moxie inside the squared circle or to those gators who flee from this handsome grappler's frenzied prodding.

I am also posting this clip as a way of formally acknowledging and celebrating the fact that Pencil Neck Geek once again has a properly functioning sound card and now can revel in the sights AND completely unhinged sounds of Buck "Rock and/or Roll" Zumhofe, Randy "Macho Man" Savage, the original (orange hued) dirigible otherwise known as Hulk Hogan, Ox Baker, and yrs truly Malibu Sands...just to name a few.

Facebuster Nation, I apologize for the lack of substantive blog content over the past few weeks. Now Rev. Von Fury, while I respect yr opinion and will passive-aggressively defend yr right to express it, I simply fail to appreciate how my upload yesterday of Silo Sam compressing Larry Nelson's head qualifies as anything approaching or remotely resembling high quality blog fodder.

So what gives? Where was I? What have I been up to these past weeks? Painstakingly putting to paper in vivid detail every rear chin lock, arm drag take down, convoluted yet utterly predictable reversal sequence, and botched flippity floppity spot after *sigh* botched flippity floppity spot from September's F1RST pro rasslin' show in order to fulfill my recap obligations? Absolutely not. Scouring the Twin Cities metropolitan areas finest garage sales and liquidation clearance outlets for a tape player so that I may finally get to listenin' and reviewin' Hulk Hogan's book-on-tape per my comeuppance for making such shitty Wrestle Mania 25 prognostications? Yes, albeit in a dawdling, easily distracted and half-assed manner. Prolifically recording my hastily marinated takes on an assortment of pressing Buck Rock and/or Roll Zumhoffe related matters on Rev. Von Fury's answering machine? Absolutely! Not watching WWE programming except for a segment or three of Friday Night Smackdown on a fortnight? That almost goes without saying...

Truthfully (that would be shootfully in rassle speak), I have been contemplating how to best share this decision with the Facebuster Sexy Action News Team...that 2010 will be my final year contributing to our beloved Arabian Facebuster project.

It will also mark the end of my tenure as Executive Vice President of the Janitorial and Custodial Division at Tully Blanchard Enterprises, Incorporated.

Bottom line, I find the contemporary product -- the WWE and TNA in particular (I don't view enough Ring of Honor to pass judgment on it...I suspect I would enjoy it a great detail but time and convenience/ease of access/my laziness make it prohibitive) -- tedious, monotonous, homogeneous, bland, stale, disengaging, and thus joyless...whether it be from an artistic, earnest, ironic, kitschy, derogatory, fault finding, or utterly thoughtless perspective and viewpoint. Of course, there are a few exceptions: namely and consistently Chris Jericho and to a lesser and more sporadic extent, yet still worthy of acknowledgment Samoa Joe, AJ Styles, CM Punk, John Morrison, and Mark Swaggle.

Alright, not Mark Swaggle.

But when John Cena's matches and promos no longer gnaw at your craw and offend your sensibilities as a rasslin' fan, you know that the sportz entertainment ethos has won, that professional rasslin' is/has lost, and that your 25+ years of fandom occupies the space between disarray and disrepair.

With that said, I commit and look forward to providing another 13 months (hopefully without any extended interruptions and respites in posting) worth of rasslin' related content that hopefully you will find provocative, humorous, well written, informative/enlightening, of high quality, and in the non-hyperbolic words of Good Ol' JR, absolutely scintillating.

Specifically, I need to complete the "Why We Watch..." series. And the Hogan book-on-tape recapitulation. Closely related, I want one last chance to redeem myself at the granddaddy of 'em all WrestleMania...um, picking match outcomes. There are a number of YouTube clips that warrant contextualizing and celebrating for their brilliance...and in many cases sheer terribleness. I hope we are able to organize one last Staff Conference and Fan Conclave. Oh, and I suspect that The Undertaker might feel compelled to get a hold of Rev. Von Fury on matters that loosely involve and grasp to incorporate Sara Undertaker. Plus, I'm sure Hulk Hogan will need to be repeatedly taken to task for his self-promoting, narcissistic, shameless and shameful ways. Debunking and destroying the myth of Hulkamania and the tenets upon which it relies has been so much easier (and arguably more rewarding) than waging war on sportz entertainment.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

In honor to my cabin fatty and lumpy plumperson esque relatives whose inevitable post-meal flatulence will compromise yet another Thanksgiving afternoon of napping for yr aloof and sure to be hung over correspondent, I submit for yr consideration two great big fatsos from the American Wrestling Association...(1) AWA over the top rope open invitational battle royale tactician John Harris aka Silo Sam; and (2) "The Mountain from Stone Mountain (Georgia)" Jerry "Crusher" Blackwell.